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Bánh pía with durian and salted egg yolkDurian and egg yolk pastries

Sóc Trăng in the Mekong Delta is lined with shops stacking boxes of bánh pía for travellers to carry home, a legacy of the province's Teochew Chinese bakers. The pastry flakes into fine, papery layers around a dense mung bean paste perfumed with durian and hiding a whole salted egg yolk; they are eaten with hot tea at any time of day and given at Mid-Autumn. This home version uses vegetable shortening in place of the lard many bakeries use, which keeps it vegetarian. Chef's tip: keep the water dough and the oil dough at the same softness; if one is firmer, the layers tear when you roll and the pastry bakes up bready instead of flaky.

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Bánh tiêuSesame doughnuts

In Saigon and the Mekong towns, bánh tiêu are fried in big woks at the edge of the morning market and sold warm in paper bags, often torn open and filled with a stick of quẩy or eaten alongside soy milk. A soft, lightly sweet dough is rolled thin, coated with sesame and dropped into hot oil, where it balloons into a hollow, chewy round with a crackly seeded shell. The dough uses no egg or butter, so the doughnuts are vegan. Chef's tip: roll the rounds evenly thin and keep the oil hot; thick spots or a cool pan give you flat, oily discs that never puff.

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Cà tím nướng mỡ hành (grilled aubergine with scallion oil)Grilled aubergine with spring onion oil

Saigon's nhậu (drinking-snack) joints grill long purple aubergines over charcoal until they collapse, peel them by hand and drown them in hot scallion oil and nước chấm. At home in the south it turns up beside caramelised dishes and rice on weeknights. This vegan version swaps fish sauce for a tamari dressing; the smoky, silky flesh and the green onion oil still carry the dish. Chef's tip: grill the aubergines until the skin is blackened all over and the whole thing slumps; undercooked aubergine is spongy and won't peel.

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Cà phê cốt dừa (coconut coffee)

Hanoi takes its coffee seriously, and in the last fifteen years coconut coffee has become one of the city's signatures, sold from Old Quarter cafés, lakeside balconies around Hoàn Kiếm and tiny stools on the pavement. It is a hot-weather drink, at its best on a sticky afternoon between May and September, eaten half with a spoon. Strong Vietnamese robusta drips slowly through an aluminium phin, then is poured over a pale slush of thick coconut cream, sweetened condensed milk and crushed ice, so you get bitter, dark coffee against something rich and cold that tastes like coconut ice cream. The common mistake is blending the slush too long or with too much ice, which leaves it thin and watery, and pouring the coffee in boiling hot so the slush collapses. Blend just until it looks like soft snow, and let the coffee cool for a minute or two. It is ready when the slush holds a spoon upright and the coffee sits in a dark layer on top. Robusta is high in caffeine and this is a strong drink, so it is not for children and one glass is plenty. Chef's tip: chill the coconut cream overnight; cold, thick cream gives a fluffier slush.

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Nước sấu (sấu fruit drink)

When Hanoi's tamarind-like sấu trees drop their small green fruit in May and June, street vendors start selling glasses of nước sấu: a few candied fruits, a ladle of ginger syrup, cold water and crushed ice. Families make big jars to last until the season ends in August. It is sipped with a spoon so you can bite into the crunchy-soft fruit at the bottom. It tastes sour and sweet at once, with a clean ginger warmth and a flavour a little like green mango and plum. Traditional cooks soak the peeled fruit in limewater to keep it crisp; a salt soak works well at home. The common mistake is skipping the blanch and slow syrup: raw fruit stays acrid and the syrup clouds. Blanch the fruit briefly, then cook it gently in sugar until it turns translucent yellow-green and the syrup is clear and glossy. Store it in a sterilised jar in the fridge for up to 2 months with a clean spoon; discard if it fizzes, smells fermented or shows mould. Fresh sấu is rare abroad; look for frozen sấu in Vietnamese shops, or use firm green ambarella. Chef's tip: slash each fruit a few times so the syrup soaks all the way in.

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Trà sen (lotus tea)

Every June and July, before sunrise, boats slip between the pink lotus on Hanoi's West Lake to gather flowers for trà sen. The finest lotus tea is made by stripping the tiny white rice-like anthers from hundreds of blooms and layering them with green tea, a labour that makes it one of Vietnam's most expensive gifts, kept for Tết. Families do a simpler version at home: a spoon of Thái Nguyên green tea is tucked into the heart of a fresh flower in the evening, the petals closed and tied, and by morning the leaves have taken on a sweet, creamy, slightly vanilla-like perfume. It is brewed in a small clay pot and drunk in tiny cups in the early morning. The common mistake is brewing with boiling water, which flattens the lotus scent and makes the green tea bitter. Rinse the leaves quickly and brew at 80–85 °C. It is ready when the cup is pale gold and the steam smells of flowers before tea. No fresh lotus? Buy ready-made lotus-scented tea from Vietnamese shops and start at the brewing step. Chef's tip: pick a bud that is just about to open; a fully open bloom has already lost its scent.

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Postre MassiniCustard sponge with burnt sugar top

Montevideo's birthday cake of choice since the early twentieth century, the Massini is two thin layers of sponge sandwiching a thick filling of whipped cream folded with egg-yolk custard, crowned with a thin glassy crust of torched yolk and sugar. Bakeries across Uruguay sell it on Sundays. Traditional versions sometimes add a sweet fortified wine to the custard; this one is alcohol-free. The custard is cooked to a safe 71 °C. The common mistake is assembling with warm custard, which melts the cream into a puddle. Chef's tip: if you don't have a blowtorch, put the sugared top under a very hot grill for a minute and watch it closely.

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Mandi'o chyryryFried cassava with onion and egg

Mandi'o chyryry means 'fried cassava' in Guaraní, and it is what rural Paraguayan families make from yesterday's boiled mandi'o: chunks crushed and fried in a big pan with onion until crisp in places, then scrambled with eggs. It comes out for breakfast with cocido or for a quick supper, and costs next to nothing. Use sweet cassava, the kind sold in supermarkets. The mistake is stirring constantly, which turns it to mush; let the cassava sit and brown. Chef's tip: the best chyryry starts with cold, day-old boiled cassava, which fries crisper than freshly boiled.

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TereréIced yerba mate

In Asunción the hottest part of the day stops for tereré: a horn or cup packed with yerba mate, topped up again and again with ice water infused with crushed herbs, and passed round the group through a metal straw. It was recognised by UNESCO as part of Paraguay's cultural heritage, and the herbs (yuyos) change with the season and the drinker's mood. Yerba mate contains caffeine, so it isn't one for small children. The common mistake is pouring water straight into loose yerba, which then clogs the straw; tilt the yerba to one side first. Chef's tip: for tereré ruso, swap the water for cold orange or grapefruit juice.

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Trà chanhIced lime tea

On warm evenings the pavement beside St Joseph's Cathedral in Hanoi fills with rows of tiny plastic stools, and nearly everyone is holding a tall glass of trà chanh, cheap green tea poured over ice with a squeeze of lime and plenty of sugar, sipped with a saucer of sunflower seeds while the city's scooters roar past. It is sharp, sweet and very refreshing. Chef's tip: brew the tea in water just off the boil, around 80 °C; boiling water makes green tea bitter.

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Cocido quemadoBurnt sugar mate drink

Cocido is how Paraguay starts the day: in Asunción, in the villages of Guairá and Itapúa, and in school kitchens, a pot of burnt yerba is brewed and poured into cups with chipa, the cheesy cassava bread, or with a hard galleta. The old way is to drop a glowing piece of charcoal into a pot with yerba and sugar and stir until the sugar burns. On a home stove you caramelise them together in a dry pan instead, which is safer and gives the same smoky, toffee-like taste. The drink is clear amber-brown, with roasted, slightly bitter mate notes over burnt-sugar sweetness; with milk added it becomes cocido con leche, creamy and coffee-coloured. Yerba mate contains caffeine, so treat it like a cup of coffee. The common mistake is letting the sugar go black: it turns acrid and bitter. Pull it off the heat when the caramel is deep amber and the yerba smells toasted, not burnt. It is ready when the liquid is a clear dark amber and tastes of toffee and smoke. Chef's tip: the water will spit fiercely when it hits the hot caramel, so pour it in from the side, at arm's length.

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Bratislavské rožkyWalnut or poppy seed crescents

Bakers in old Pressburg, today's Bratislava, have shaped these little horns for nearly three centuries, and the city still treats them as its own Christmas and wedding pastry. The walnut ones are bent into a horseshoe and the poppy seed ones into a crescent, so you can tell them apart on the plate. The dough is rich and short, almost like a pastry, and the shiny brown top is crazed with fine cracks from a double egg glaze. A common mistake is glazing the second time before the first coat is dry, which leaves a dull, smooth top instead of the famous marbling. Patience is the whole trick: a cool rest after the yolk, then a warm rest after the white. Old recipes add a splash of rum to the walnut filling; this version uses lemon and cinnamon instead. Chef's tip: keep the dough cold and work quickly, so the butter stays in tiny flakes.

150 minCzechBaking
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BublaninaCherry sponge traybake

Czech grandmothers make bublanina the moment cherries ripen in June, and again with apricots or plums later in summer, baking it in a big tray for afternoon coffee in the garden. The name comes from the bubbles that form as the fruit sinks into the batter. It is a light, buttery sponge, golden at the edges, with pockets of juicy, sharp fruit and a snowfall of icing sugar on top; children love it warm. A common mistake is folding in the flour too hard, which knocks out the air and makes a tough cake; mix until just combined. Pitted fruit is easiest for little eaters. Chef's tip: toss the fruit in a spoon of flour before scattering it over, so it sits in the sponge instead of sinking to the bottom.

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ZelňákSauerkraut yeast pie

Out in the Moravian wine villages, when bread was baked in the communal oven, the last of the dough went into zelňák: a flat yeast base spread with sour cabbage and fried onion and baked until the edges blister. It is still sold in bakeries around Brno and Hodonín and eaten warm in slices with a glass of buttermilk or new wine. Old recipes fry the onion in lard or add crackling; this version uses oil and butter and is vegetarian. The topping is tangy, sweet from the onion and scented with caraway, over a soft, bready base. Where it often goes wrong is using wet sauerkraut straight from the jar, which turns the base soggy. Squeeze it well and fry it first. Chef's tip: a thin layer of sour cream under the cabbage keeps the base moist and stops the topping drying out.

120 minCzechBaking
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FrgályYeast tarts with pear or cheese

At weddings and church fairs in Moravian Wallachia, in the hills around Rožnov and Vsetín, tables are stacked with frgály: yeast tarts as wide as a dinner plate, rolled so thin the filling seems to sit on a crisp, chewy disc. The classic toppings are dried pear mixed with plum butter, sweet tvaroh (Czech quark), or poppy seed, all scattered with a buttery crumble. This recipe makes four, two with each of the first two fillings. Tvaroh is usually set without rennet, but some brands use it, so check the label. The usual slip is leaving the dough thick in the middle, which makes a bready tart; roll right to the edge, about 3 mm thick. Chef's tip: bake on the lowest oven shelf on a hot tray, so the base browns before the filling dries.

150 minCzechBaking
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ŽinčicaSoured whey drink

Hikers walking past a salaš, a Slovak shepherds' hut, are often offered a mug of žinčica, the cool, sour whey left over from making bryndza and hrudka cheese. Shepherds heat the whey until fine flakes of cheese float up, then leave it to sour, and drink it with boiled potatoes or on its own on a hot afternoon. It is thin, refreshing and tangy, a little like a light buttermilk. At the salaš it is often made from raw sheep's milk, so at home make it only from the whey of cheese made with pasteurised milk (the korbáčiky recipe gives you plenty) and vegetarian rennet. The common slip is leaving it to sour somewhere warm for too long, where it turns cheesy and harsh; a cool room and 12 hours is enough. Chef's tip: a spoonful of cultured buttermilk gives a clean, reliable sourness every time.

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VánočkaBraided Christmas bread

On Czech Christmas Eve morning, before the carp and the potato salad, the table holds a long golden vánočka, a sweet braided loaf whose layered plaits are said to represent the baby Jesus in swaddling. Families slice it for breakfast through the holidays with butter, honey or jam. The crumb is soft and rich with egg and butter, scented with lemon zest and studded with raisins; flaked almonds crisp up on the crust. The usual slip is braiding too loosely, so the tiers slide apart in the oven; plait tightly and hold them with wooden skewers while baking. Soaking raisins in warm water (not rum) keeps them juicy and alcohol-free. Chef's tip: vánočka keeps for days wrapped in a cloth, and slightly stale slices make superb French toast.

185 minCzechBaking
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JidášeEaster honey buns

Maundy Thursday, "Green Thursday" in Czech, is the day for jidáše, sweet yeasted buns rolled into ropes and coiled into spirals or loose knots to recall the rope of Judas, which gives them their name. Families in Bohemia and Moravia bake them for breakfast that morning and brush them, still hot, with honey; eating one was once said to bring health for the year. They are soft and fluffy, lightly scented with lemon, with a sticky, shiny top. A common mistake is brushing the honey on cold buns, where it just sits; warm the honey and glaze them straight from the oven so it soaks in. Honey is not suitable for babies under one year old. Chef's tip: roll the ropes thinner than you think, about finger thickness; they double as they prove.

145 minCzechBaking
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BuchtyFilled baked yeast buns

Buchty are the soft, pillowy yeast buns that Czech grandmothers bake in a roasting tin on Saturday, filled with povidla (plum butter), jam or sweet quark and packed so close that they rise into each other and have to be torn apart. They are the Czech answer to a cinnamon bun: eaten warm with milky coffee, packed for train journeys and school trips, and famous from the fairy tale in which the hero sets off with a bag of his mother's buchty. Unlike open koláče, the filling is sealed inside. Chef's tip: brush the sides of each bun with melted butter before you pack them in, so they pull apart cleanly with soft, shiny walls.

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Fresh hot soy milk

On cold Da Lat nights, the steam rising from soy milk stalls is part of the scenery around the central market: big pots of freshly made sữa đậu nành, ladled hot into glasses and sipped with grilled rice paper or a warm bánh bao. Made at home, it tastes nutty and clean, nothing like the cartons, and a knot of pandan leaf gives it the gentle vanilla-like scent that Vietnamese sellers favour. Chef's tip: rub the soaked beans between your palms and float off the skins; peeled beans give a smoother, sweeter milk.

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Houskové knedlíkyBread dumpling loaf

Houskové knedlíky are the sliced bread dumplings that sit beside almost every sauce in a Prague pub, from mushroom svíčková-style cream sauces to sweet-sour dill gravy. Unlike the round German Semmelknödel, these are a soft yeast dough rolled into a log with crisp cubes of stale roll inside, simmered whole, then cut into thick, spongy slices that drink up gravy. Czech grandmothers still slice them with a length of thread rather than a knife, which keeps the crumb open instead of squashing it. Chef's tip: cut the cooked loaf with a piece of cotton thread wrapped around it and pulled tight; a knife presses the slices into dense, gluey discs.

55 minCzechSides
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Moravské koláčeFilled yeast buns

In the villages of South Moravia and Wallachia, nobody gets married without a mountain of koláče: small round yeast buns with a deep hollow filled with sweetened poppy seed, vanilla quark or povidla (thick plum butter), each crowned with buttery posypka crumble. Relatives bake hundreds for the wedding and send guests home with boxes of them, and they turn up again at village fairs (pouť) and Sunday coffee. Chef's tip: press the hollow deep and wide just before filling; the dough rises again in the oven, and a shallow dip pushes the filling over the edge.

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ChajáSponge, peach and cream cake

Chajá was created in 1927 at a bakery in Paysandú, a city on the Uruguay River, and named after a local bird whose feathers look as fluffy as its crumbly meringue coat. Today it's Uruguay's birthday and celebration cake: layers of light sponge soaked in peach syrup, filled with whipped cream, peaches and dulce de leche, then covered in crushed meringue. It's sweet, soft and crunchy at once, best on the day it's assembled. Chef's tip: soak the sponge but not too much; it should feel moist, not wet, or the layers slide.

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Vietnamese iced coffee

Cà phê sữa đá is the drink of Vietnam's pavement cafés, and in Saigon people sit on tiny plastic stools sipping it slowly from morning to night. Dark-roast coffee, traditionally robusta, drips slowly through a small metal filter called a phin onto a layer of sweetened condensed milk, then gets stirred and poured over ice. It is strong, sweet, chocolatey and very cold. Chef's tip: bloom the coffee with a splash of hot water for 30 seconds before filling the phin; it should then drip slowly, about 1–2 drops a second, for 4–5 minutes. Too fast and the coffee tastes thin, so press the inner filter down a little more next time.

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